


Forces of Nature

by et_spiritus_sancti



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 08:02:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9428792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/et_spiritus_sancti/pseuds/et_spiritus_sancti
Summary: A short, two-part oneshot concerning how Daryl lost his wife during the beginnings of the apocalypse. Rated T for language, violence and intense scenes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Daryl married? It's a stretch, I know. But I tried to stay close to the character as possible. And I also think it's a possible reason Daryl is just so damn moody. I'll post the conclusion next week. Enjoy!
> 
> -Sancti

Car after car sped by on the other side of the road. Personal belongings—furniture, luggage and any other odd assortment of things protruded from and were lashed to all the vehicles. They sped down the highway so fast, Daryl couldn't even make out their faces, although he pictured they were smattered by some mixture of fear and horror. Daryl felt the same, but wouldn't allow it to show. A situation such as this brought forward the true nature of people. And Daryl knew from the start he was meant to be a survivor. Everything he'd done in his life seemed perfect preparation for this disaster. A lifetime of purposeless living and it finally became clear what he was created for. He was a precision, killing machine. Not a leader, mind you—he had no interest in being the shepherd to others. He was no soldier either. Taking orders from others had never been easy. He could count on one hand the number of people he cared about in this world. He intended to bring them all through this crisis unharmed. Daryl pressed down on the gas pedal at that thought. He had to get back to her.

It was a blistering hot day. Even as a native to the South, he found the heat of this day nearly unbearable. He had never owned a vehicle with air conditioning. It made him miss his motorcycle and he hoped Merle had been taking good care of it. Daryl had all the windows down in the old station wagon, but nothing compared to the blustering freedom of his bike. He shifted uncomfortably in the seat, his sweat having soaked into the material.

The cars continued in droves on the other side. Some honked at him—a warning of what he was already expecting as he sped in this direction. But he had to get to her. He would gather her, wait for Merle and they would flee. Daryl wanted to get to the sea. Find a boat and set sail for some remote island. A good place where they could wait for the end of this apocalypse. He'd told her all about his plan with utter confidence, even if in his gut he had none. But then, he wasn't a leader—just a survivor. He could kill, outrun these things for as long as it takes. Merle didn't seem to care what they did as long as he didn't go hungry and he had a chance to kill some of these bastards.

She worried him though. Daryl didn't feel he had her complete attention, or that she fully understood the seriousness of their situation. She would see soon enough once they got on the road.

Something up ahead caught his eye. He thought it was an animal at first. It only took him a moment more to realize it was one of them. He let off the gas pedal as the blur took shape. It wandered into the street, shuffling along an unknown path. The car came to a stop, giving himself plenty of room between him and the creature. The cars coming opposite swerved when they noticed it and continued on. Finally, it turned to face him. He swallowed thickly. It had been a young woman. A girl. Maybe fourteen or fifteen. Her face was untarnished. She had been beautiful. A mangled hole where her midsection had been betrayed her. What was left of her intestines jiggled over her waist like mangled spaghetti. Daryl watched her carefully as she glared at his car, trying to figure out if she could eat it, he was sure. He watched her milky eyes glaze over, her nose twitch as she tested the air around her for fresh blood. He could tell when she caught his scent on the air. Whatever predator instincts she had switched on and she inched forward with interest, those sickly eyes finally concentrating on him. He let her get closer, noticing the excited jerks in her movement as she anticipated her easy meal.

"What luck!" Daryl imagined her thinking, if in fact there was any sort of thought process, "One of these things finally slowed down enough for me to eat—is this what we call fast food?"

Daryl chuckled mirthlessly at his own joke. "Fast food," He sighed as she picked up speed, reaching the front of his car. She stumbled against it, flopping onto the hood. She wheezed and grunted, clawing frantically at the windshield. She hadn't figured out yet that all the windows were open.

Daryl stared, almost amused at her pathetic efforts. "I'm so hungry," he mimicked her voice out loud, "You look so tasty and I wanna to chew on you so bad." He gradually reached for his crossbow in the passenger seat, checking the rigidity of the arrow already loaded, "I haven't eaten in about twenty minutes, I'll starve to death!" She was trying to gnaw on the windshield, her teeth scraping against the glass. Some of her teeth broke in the process. She let out little squeals of pain as the teeth snapped off and clattered down to the wipers. Daryl watched with annoyance as rotting entrails smeared on the window.

"Yeah, you're hungry, aren't ya?" Daryl said in his own voice. He brought the crossbow out the window and aimed it at her head. She noticed the fresh meat of his arm and released a garbled cry as she dove for it. Daryl pressed the trigger and the arrow plunged effortless into her forehead with a dull "thunk." Her writhing body collapsed on his hood—silent and still.

"Didn't your mama ever tell you it all goes right to your hips?" The mixture of blood and viscera was slick and caused her body to slide down the hood, a squeak of the metal the only reply.

"I guess not." Daryl murmured. He got out of the old car and plucked the arrow from her head, the crunching, sucking sound of her brains and broken skull protesting. He came to the other side of the car and in one movement pulled her off and threw her body into the muddy ditch beside the road. He wiped the arrow in the grass to get the chunks off before returning to the car. He slammed the door shut and sighed staring at the smeared, rotting pieces she had left behind on his window. Cursing, Daryl grabbed a rag off the floor of the car and stepped back out to wipe the windshield down as best he could. He was able to get most of the offensive material off but it would take a good rain to get the window clean again.

Daryl continued the drive home. The amount of other cars had dissipated and a few were even stranded on the road. He didn't have to look to know what lay inside those cars. Late afternoon was approaching and the heat was reaching its peak for the day. He just had to get to her. She gave him reason. Strength. His only reason to fight.

He passed familiar sights. Houses of people he knew. Trailer parks he used to live in. He'd traveled down this road countless times, yet it seemed brand new. Unpredictable. He knew ever curve and hill, yet he found himself holding his breath in case something gruesome appeared on the other side. He pushed these fears aside. He had to be strong for her. And he didn't need Merle calling him a panty-twisted pussy or any of his other colorful nicknames. He made a series of turns that brought him to a rough road littered in potholes. The houses around here were small, old country homes spread far apart. Most of them were in disrepair. But Daryl could not have been prouder when he brought her to their new home. It was something he'd worked hard for. He wasn't going to raise his family in a house on wheels. He finally reached the familiar gravel driveway. The wooden mailbox was a bit askew and needed to be reinforced, but Daryl took some pride in the painted name, "Dixon" on its side. He felt a pang of sadness knowing he was taking them away from this place. But it was the only way.

Daryl pulled into the drive, the rocks crunching under his tires. The grass was starting to overgrow. But keeping the lawn mowed was the least of their problems. Soon, it wouldn't matter, because they would be far from it. The garden was still thriving with daisies and vines of morning glories wrapped themselves about the porch, their large, dark purple flowers open to the world, unafraid and unaware of all its horrors. The house was a small two story with a fresh coat of yellow paint he had put on at the beginning of Summer. Before the outbreak. White shutters adorned each window. One wouldn't suspect anything wrong with the world looking at this place, until they noticed the wood boards nailed to all the first story windows. Daryl turned the car off, grabbed his cross bow and slung it over his back. He retrieved the treasured bags of food and supplies from the back seat and made his way to his home. As he came up onto the porch, he could hear scratching on the other side of the front door accompanied by persistent whines.

"Yeah, yeah, Buck, I hear ya." With a free hand, Daryl swung open the storm door, propping it open with his foot and and jammed the house key into the lock. Letting himself in, he was immediately greeting by the excited whimpers and whines of their German Shepherd who bounced off his large front feet in the hopes of getting a pat on the head. Once Daryl secured the door and its deadbolt, he acknowledged the canine, patting his side firmly.

"Hey boy. Good boy, good boy, Buck." The dog's tail wagged rapidly in response and his nails clacked on the hard wood floor as he followed his master into the kitchen. Daryl set the bags on the little kitchen table and the keys down with a clatter. Normally he would holler for her, but these days you had to maneuver quietly. They were attracted to noise.

He clomped up the stairs, Buck at his heels. "Gina?"

No response. He peaked into the bathroom at the top of the stairs, which was in disarray. All the drawers and cabinet doors were open and various toiletries were scattered on the counter and some had fallen to the floor. He wasn't alarmed by this. He'd told her to pack quickly.

"Gina?" He called again. Their bedroom was at the end of the hall and he made straight for it. Buck went ahead of him into the room, Daryl close behind. The room was flooded with the hot afternoon light, as he did not board the upstairs windows. The lace curtains blew gently away from the open window. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her on the edge of the bed. Suitcases were laid open on the bed, clothes stuffed in them and strewn about the room. Her shoulders were hunched over as he came around to face her. Her long black hair hid her face.

"Gina, what are you doin', I told you to get our things together. We're leavin' as soon as Merle gets here." Her body shuddered and she brought a hand up to push her hair behind her ear. Then he saw her face, wet with tears, her blue eyes glistening and red. A hand on her swollen, pregnant belly. She sniffed, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand.

Daryl heaved a sigh. "Christ, baby, you can cry in the car, but we've got to get this shit together."

She hiccupped a little sob. Her hand went to his and he grasped it. He always marveled at how small it felt in his own. He was afraid one day he would crush it. "Daryl, I—" Her voice caught, "I don't think I can do it."

He knew what she meant. But they couldn't let it stop them. He knelt down in front of her, still holding on to her and put his other hand on her belly. "Baby, we've been through this. It's too dangerous to stay. It's bad out there. There's talk of a herd comin' this way. We have to move on before they get here."

She shook her head emphatically. "We don't know that for sure. They might not even come close to us."

He dipped his head in impatience. "Gina, I had to go pretty damn far to get some food. All the stores around here have been cleaned out. If we're goin' to survive, we need to be on the move."

His wife snatched her hand from his and he blinked in surprise. She fixed him with a hard stare. She was angry. "I don't want to leave. I don't want to have this baby on the road. We have enough food to last a while. Certainly long enough until they get this under control."

Daryl tightened his hands into fists. He was torn. He needed her to realize how serious this was. It couldn't be a matter of hiding out until the cavalry comes riding in. But he also wanted to protect her. Scaring her with the gory details wasn't going to help anything. He still remembered what the doctor told them at their last appointment, before all this started. It was his job as husband and dad to keep her calm and happy now that they were reaching the end of the pregnancy. They didn't want her going into pre-mature labor. Damn the universe and its incredible timing to start an apocalypse.

He tried to keep his voice calm and controlled. "Gina, there is no 'they.' As far as anybody can tell, there is no more military, or government. We're on our own."

Gina looked away from him and gazed at the crib against the wall. Daryl had constructed it himself. She had sewn the quilt hanging over the banister. It had soft patches with little bumblebees and butterflies. "Can't we give it a try? Just until the baby's born?"

Daryl stood and leaned against the windowsill, the afternoon sun hot on his back. "We might not last that long."

She pursed her lips in disappointment. She was in denial. She then shrugged her slender shoulders and looked away from him. "I guess you'll have to go without me."

Daryl scoffed and pushed himself from the window, throwing his arms into the air. "Don't be an idiot, Gina, I'm not leavin' you anywhere."

"Don't call me an idiot, Daryl."

"Well, stop bein' one!"

She didn't say anything and instead her face contorted in pain. She let out a little gasp and lowered her head, both her hands on her belly again. Immediately Daryl was at her side.

"You alright? What's wrong?"

She moaned a little. "Nothing, I'm fine. He just really started kickin'." She sighed warily, "I don't think he likes the yellin'."

Daryl couldn't help but smirk as he put a hand gently on her belly. Sure enough, he could feel some modest thumps. He grinned as he looked up at his wife. "Well, look at that. Our son's a little ass-kicker."

Gina laughed gently, rubbing her belly as the kicking subsided. "Just like his daddy." She then slid the back of her fingers over his cheek. "I love you, Daryl."

He closed his eyes and relished in the soft skin of her hand. "I love you, too, baby."

She dropped her hand and struggled to her feet, Daryl grabbed her elbow to help her stand. She waddled over to the suitcases and picked up one of the little onsies for the baby. Daryl glanced out the window. Merle was late. He silently cursed his older brother. What the hell was he doing? Or perhaps he was in trouble, although Daryl knew his brother was as much of a fighter as he was. Phones didn't work anymore. He would have to go over there and get him. Daryl adjusted the strap of his crossbow.

"We're gonna have to get Merle. He should be here by now," He motioned to the suitcases, "We'll finish these up then leave."

Gina shrugged as she folded up the little blue onsie. "I told you, I'm not leavin'."

Daryl felt his chest puff up in anger and he tried to control it. Dixon boys were never too skilled at controlling anger. "Damn it, Gina, that's enough!" She took a step back from him. Was she frightened of him? Daryl didn't dwell on it much, as his rant was far from over, "Now, I'm the man of this house and I'm tellin' ya what we're gonna do and you're gonna damn-well do it!"

Daryl hated the way she looked at him. Like he was a mad dog at the end of his chain. In the time they had been together, she never looked at him like that. But then he had never yelled at her in such a way either. Daryl almost regretted it. But this wasn't about hurting her feelings. This was about survival—a subject he was an expert in. If it took a little yelling to make his wife and unborn child safe, he would do just that. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself. Feeling the anger simmer, he put his arms out to hold her. She backed away again, clutching the onsie to her chest. He dropped his arms, not too surprised by her reaction.

"Just—please, baby, just get the bags packed. I'll be back in fifteen minutes with Merle. We'll talk more then, okay?"

She nodded silently, her grasp on the onsie relaxed a little. "Okay."

Even though he knew she wanted nothing to do with him, he closed the space between them and cupped her cheek with a hand. He leaned in and kissed her lips gently. She didn't push him away, but she was rigid. That was alright. He knew he deserved it. He stared into her eyes, blue as the ocean he was determined to get them to, "Everything will be okay, Gina," He whispered, "I'll keep you safe, I promise."

The tension in her eyes relaxed a little and she nodded. "I know you will."

He smiled reassuringly. "You got your shotgun?"

She nodded at the dresser against the wall where one of his shotguns rested on an old, yellowed lace doily. "Right there. It's loaded."

"Good girl. I'll be back soon."

He was in the doorway when Buck scrambled up after him. "Daryl, could you let Buck out before you go?"

Daryl scratched the dog's head. He had a bad feeling about Merle. He didn't want to delay getting to his brother. "He'll be okay until I get back. Love you, baby."

"Love you, too." He heard her say as he quickly descended the stairs.


End file.
